


What's Good for the Goose

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Jealous Brian, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:23:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Goes Around Comes Around</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Good for the Goose

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during season 3, after 309

Justin’s POV: 

    “Shut the fuck up!” Without a rhythmic blip in his staccato pounding of the keys, he spat out the words like shards of glass. I always wondered what “gritting between clenched teeth” sounded like. Now I knew. Cringing with every stroke, I felt each sullen hit as if I were the one pelted by his angry fingers instead of the computer. It was so unfair!

    “Brian—” I tried to continue but he wouldn’t let me.

    “What part of ‘Shut the fuck up’ don’t you fucking understand?” He was almost growling and yelling at the same time, refusing to look at me, to even acknowledge my presence.

     This was getting old very quickly. He'd been ignoring me for two days. “You know, Brian, believe it or not, I understand every single fucking word you’re saying, as well as all the words you’re not saying. However, I don’t fucking understand what the fuck your fucking problem is!” That felt better! The more I thought about what happened, the more agitated I became. Who the hell was he—

    “Justin.” There it was, the Brian Kinney Voice of Doom.

    “What?” I snapped. This was too much. I mean, who the fuck does he think he is? Well, at least the poor keyboard received a little reprieve.

    “I think it would be in your best interest to...”

     He pinched the bridge of his nose the way he always does when he’s trying to stop a headache. Well, listen up, Mr. Kinney, I am your worst headache, and if you don’t stop this shit, I’ll...

    “Shut. the. fuck. up!”

     I can see this “conversation” is going nowhere, which is where all our talks go when they’re about feelings. God forbid Stonewall Kinney should show a crack of emotion. Well, I had news for him. He was going to get bulldozed whether he liked it or not.

    “Jesus, Brian, what the fuck is your problem?” I figured I’d start out slowly and save the big guns for later.

     No answer, just his annoying tap, tap, tap. Sorry, Mr. Keyboard, you lost an ally because you’re driving me fucking insane.

    “Brian?” I put as much softness into my voice as I could, even though I wanted to rip his head or his dick from his body, depending on which part of my body was doing the ripping.

    "What?" I heard a soft simmer of emotion from his terse one word answer.

    “I wasn’t going to do anything, you know,” I murmured. I wasn’t. I had learned my lesson with the whole Ethan fiasco. But it had been one of those crazy nights. Fuck! I sound like a song lyric gone bad.

                                                                                                 *****

_What Happened:_

     We were all at Babylon and for some reason, everything hit me harder than usual. I felt as if I were floating outside myself, observing and watching.

     It was one of the strangest experiences. I saw Emmett dancing and prancing with himself; saw Ted at the bar, nursing a drink with his eyes darting everywhere hoping that maybe this was the night he’d find Mr. Right; saw Michael and Ben nuzzling each other as they swayed to the music. Then I saw Brian dancing, although that’s open for interpretation, with some nameless trick, cock to cock, in his usual “let’s fuck” stance.

     I thought we were past all this now that we were back together. I don’t mean Babylon’s anonymous backroom or the Baths. He is who he is and I accept that...sort of. But to put on a show right in front of me, in front of our friends, made my blood boil. All the excuses for his behavior came flooding back. I was tired of “Brian doesn’t do boyfriends,” “So if I’m out late, just assume that I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing: fucking” or “You’re not still thinking about the zucchini man, are you?” I mean, when did everything become so one-sided?

     My Mom likes to pepper her conversations with hackneyed sayings. When I was young, she did it all the time. Molly and I would simply roll our eyes and shake our heads. Much to my chagrin, a few have taken up permanent residence in my collective consciousness. One of her favorites was, 'What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,' and that night I took its meaning to heart. Maybe it was the copious amount liquor I had consumed or the tab of E or a combination of both, but I was determined to change the scales. I wasn’t here for his convenience or his ego reaffirming fuck, and vaguely remember thinking, “I’ll show him!”

     I was really pissed because I was right there, for fuck sake! It’s not as if he had to hunt for it. But of course, he had to show Babylon he was still his own man and could fuck anyone he wanted. Well, I was determined to give him 'a taste of his own medicine.' Thanks Mom, for another one stuck in my head.

     I looked around for the hottest guy I could find, then zeroed in on my target. I had been told numerous times by Mr. Kinney that I was really hot when I wasn’t in possession of all my faculties (my words, not his). I thought I could use it to my advantage. But looking back, I think it worked against me.

     All the crap in my system did its job. In plain view of Brian, I ground my ass against Mr. Hot Guy in perfect time with the pulsing music. His enthusiasm in the proceedings was also noted when his dick started to push against me. I did notice, out of the corner of my eye, that Michael, Ben, Ted and Emmett were staring, ogling actually, at my display, muttering among themselves. I could just imagine their conversation.

              “What the fuck does he think he’s doing?” Michael would fume. “I mean, for Christ sake, right in front of Brian, in front of all his friends?”

              “Michael, stay out of it.” Ben would state firmly.

              “Sweetie, the road to true love is never smooth, unless of course, one has considerately shaved and moistened,” Emmett would say. 

              “Who knows what their current game is? I’ve given up trying to figure it out,” Ted would mumble.

      I admit that perhaps I went a little too far. All right, maybe a lot too far. Blissfully ensconced in the arms of Mr. Hot Guy, we swayed to the beat while his hands held my hips against his crotch. I had just closed my eyes for a second when I heard a voice. “Fuck off!”

     My eyes flew open and I saw Brian not so delicately removing the hands from my body. He repeated, “I said fuck off!” He can do intimidation better than anyone. He literally wrote the book on it, so I wasn’t surprised to see my “dance partner” raise his hands in surrender and stride away, glancing back at us with a combination of amusement and irritation.

     Brian took hold of my arm, his fingers digging into the flesh with enough force that I’d have black and blue marks. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

     I looked at him with as much innocence as I could muster. It wasn’t too difficult since my vision was slightly blurred and my eyes were glazed, or so I was told afterwards. “What? What are you talking about? I’m only following your example, Brian. I’m doing ‘exactly what I want to be doing.’”

     He leaned in closer and his anger hit me like a shotgun blast. “Don’t pretend you're the naive virgin. You can only use that trump card once. You’re not naive anymore and you’re certainly not a virgin!”

     That shocked me into awareness. I started shaking and yanked myself from his grip. He wanted to play like this, did he?

    “You, you...” I had trouble getting the words out, my mind and voice not fully in sync. “Who the fuck do you think you are, Brian? Who the fuck do you think you are?”  I raised my voice above the music, not caring if anyone heard. “It’s ok for you to grab every piece of ass, to fuck anyone you want, but not me? Since when did this become a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ relationship?  Oh, but that’s right. I forgot. Brian Kinney doesn’t _do_ relationships! How do you think it makes me feel when I’m standing here with you and you search for someone else to fuck? Well, maybe now you know. Although I doubt you even give a fuck! I’m so fucking stupid.”

     Feeling like a tilt-a-whirl carnival ride, I had staggered only a brief distance before his hand clamped down on my arm again. “We’re leaving now!” The expression of both hardness and fragility on his face oddly comforted me.

    “No. You can go. I’m staying.” In the back of my muddled mind, I knew I was being a twat, pushing too far, but I couldn’t stop.

    “Justin, get your goddamn act together and come on!” He started dragging me to the door, past our friends who were gawking at this display with too much interest for my liking.

    “I said no!” He really was strong! No matter how I twisted and turned, I couldn’t get away.

     He screeched to a halt and whirled around to face me. “You little shit! You’re the one who started this, but we’re not finishing it here, so come on!” He yanked me again until, with super human strength, I broke free.

     It was all I could do not to laugh in his face. I stared at him in astonishment. “I started this? _I_ did? If I recall, you were the one already dry fucking on the dance floor! So don’t rewrite history because it fits your dysfunctional way of looking at the universe! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home because I want to, not because you want me to!”

     I brushed passed him and weaved through the crowd, trying to keep the door in sight, a feat easier said than done. He stormed after me, the rage and frustration radiating off him in waves. I didn't care. All I wanted was to go home. I was beginning to crash and wanted to do it in the privacy of the loft.

                                                                                                *****

    “Brian? I wasn’t! Honest! Don’t you know that?” I had to tread very carefully even though I was still fucking furious with him.

     He kept his eyes trained on the screen. I had almost given up hope of getting an answer, but then I heard, “No, no I don’t. Not anymore.”

     That certainly took the wind out of my sails. I stared at the back of his head, at his shoulder muscles locked in place, at the rigid tendons in his neck. I didn't have to see his face to know his thumb was moving  back and forth across his chin. I don’t think he’s aware he does it.

                                                                          

     Those words opened my eyes and allowed me to see him in a whole new light. He tried to be so strong when I was with Ethan, but he didn't fool anyone except himself. Now that I'm back, each day drives home the realization that he gave as much of himself to me as he could. He gave more to me than he ever gave anyone else, and I betrayed him for a misguided vision of love. What also hurts is that through it all, he stayed a man. He never badmouthed me in public and even took a swipe at Michael. I respect him for that. I doubt I could have done the same.

      I don’t think I understood how badly I hurt him until now. I peek at him from the corner of my eye, even though he can’t see me. I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling. He deliberately avoids my gaze. God, I wish he would open up for once, but I know he won’t. I always have to read between the lines, between the looks to figure him out, and although he’d never admit it, he just told me volumes.

      I let out a breath and begin the slow journey to invade his space. When I finally close the distance, I wrap my arms around him, breathing in his scent as if it’s my oxygen. He’s still staring at the computer screen. I feel his resistance but I hang on. I’m not letting go. Within minutes, he relaxes, as if in surrender, and his head falls back against my chest. Eyes closed, his arms encircle mine in a needy grasp, and the way he clenches and releases his grip is desperate, as if he's trying to cocoon himself within me.

     “I’m here, Brian. I’m here,” I whisper. It’s all I can think to say. I hope it's enough.

 

                                                                                                FINI


End file.
